


Below Deck

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Humor, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: Sorcerer to cabin boy was a translation born of necessity, or so he told himself





	1. Chapter 1

Mozenrath wasn't going to lie to himself; standing there where the gangplank met the boat, the Captain made an impressive figure. While the men loading the cargo ducked and rushed for fear of the crashing waves and angry sky, the mountainous African man was unshaken. Even as his ship impatiently heaved under his feet, eager for the open, turbulent sea, the Captain was both calm and dominating. A large, almost oversized, jagged blade hung from his belt, along with other implements of combat, though they hardly seemed necessary. He shadowed all his men both in height and girth.

Mozenrath stepped aside as another seaman pushed past him with an armload of cargo to haul up the plank. Mozenrath hesitated before stepping on himself. Trying to ignore the lashing rain, he racked his brain determinedly. What to do? He had to leave the area for awhile, that much was certain. Though the betrayal of Khartoum was devastating at first, he was now nearly certain his stolen powers would return in time. In the meantime, however, it was suicidal to stay in his ruinous Citadel. Every enemy Mozenrath had ever made would soon learn he was temporarily defenseless, and swarm the deserts. No, he had to get away, inconspicuously, and more importantly, quickly. In some country far from Agrabah and the Black Sands he would lie low and recover.

He drew what was left of his cloak around him. It wouldn't do to get the flu on top of the weakness and exhaustion he suffered from the loss of his magic. Resolving there was no better time than the present, Mozenrath stepped in line behind another burdened sailor to ascend the gangplank, allowing himself an wry smile. Well, at least the Citadel explosion did do one thing: he didn't have any belongings to carry as well.

The closer he got to the Captain, the more furious his mind worked. He had no money at all, and he knew there was no such thing as free passage.

"What do we have here?" the Captain boomed loudly. With tangible humor in his eyes, he watched Mozenrath's approach.

Mozenrath reddened as the other seaman forgot their storm anxiety and turned to look. Mozenrath gathered himself before he replied, taking a moment to size the Captain up.

Mozenrath had never seen a man so dark but with such bright eyes and teeth, large and white in his gold littered mouth. He stood twice Mozenrath's size in every sense of the word and was dressed in leathers and hides, a few gold rings and hoops as adornment. Slighted at being so significantly smaller, Mozenrath nevertheless inclined his head civilly.

"Just a wandering pilgrim, sir, in hopes of safe passage." Mozenrath informed gracefully.

"Oh Ho, really? Well I hate to disappoint you, but this is a trading boat, not a carriage."

A few of the other men laughed as they hurried to secure the rigging. Mozenrath grit his teeth.

"All I ask of you, good sir, is a little charity to send me on my way. From there I can suffice on my own. Surely I won't take up too much room until the next port?"

Mozenrath congratulated himself for playing on a man of the sea's sense of manners and decorum so well. He was in no shape to take the ship by force, so be it, but he could flatter his way onto almost anything, he was sure.

"Charity?" the Captain repeated, pulling Mozenrath aside so the last of his crew could board. "So I am to receive no payment for my troubles."

"Oh, I'd pay you if I could, sir, but times are hard. And I'm sure I could be useful around the ship."

At this, the Captain laughed heartily, shaking his head. "You boy? I doubt it." He, too, sized up Mozenrath, and the sorcerer felt the gaze intensely on his slight and cold body.

"So where are you going, little flatterer?" The Captain easily yelled above the din of the storm.

"To holier lands." Mozenrath answered smoothly, surprised when the Captain leaned in to chuckle lowly.

"I am not so sure. There's nothing holy about you, boy, I can tell."

It was then something very obvious struck Mozenrath. Standing there in the rain, he finally realized how he must look. When he lost his Citadel, he lost pretty much everything else, including most of his clothes. All he could manage to find among the wreckage of his home was a sleeveless, thin, white, cotton tunic, a pair of sandals, and loose, thin, white, cotton slacks.

An outfit entirely in white. An outfit entirely in white, soaked in very, very cold rain.

Why hadn't he feel before how the mater made the fabric cling transparently to every curve and dip of his body? He started to fluster self-consciously until he realized the Captain was still very much inclined toward him, still staring at the Mozenrath under the tattered cloak, and moreover, staring in appreciative interest at the slender, soft, yet toned form of his body. In that moment, an idea blossomed. He arched his body to the taller man, standing straight so as to better present himself. Coyly, he took on a new tone.

"Surely you wouldn't send me back out into the storm? And I believe if I can't make myself useful above deck, maybe I can make myself useful below deck."

To add the final touch, Mozenrath laid his elegant white hand on the Captain's arm, giving the impressive muscle there an approving squeeze. Mozenrath was proud of his own daring. Sure, he'd only had one or two sexual encounters, and sure, it was a good while ago, but he could still be sexy, with a little bit of maneuvering and finesse, right? Of course he was right, he was Mozenrath. He could do anything.

The Captain laughed again, obviously pleased. Mozenrath was only momentarily concerned at the air of amusement about the man, like he was laughing at a joke only he could understand. The larger man spoke low enough so even in the chaos their conversation was private.

"We'll see if you're up to the task, little pilgrim."

Mozenrath did not have to fake the shiver that crawled down his back at the older man's words. His eyes closed as the Captain's breath raked his ear and neck. The man, even in the rain, smelt rich and strong, like sun and sweat, like clover and spice and something darker still. Mozenrath found himself dizzy. Too dizzy, he noticed with an internal frown. The Captain plucked the ragged cloak from his body. Foolishly, Mozenrath thought it was to view him more freely and struck, what he hoped, was a casual, yet inviting, pose of nonchalance.

His conceptions of himself were shattered, however, when the Captain dropped his very own coat onto Mozenrath's shoulders. He laughed at the disgusted expression on Mozenrath's face when he smelled it.

"That's walrus skin, boy, from the North. It's waterproof, and mighty warm."

"It smells like weasel skin" Mozenrath grumbled.

The Captain pushed him off towards the galley. "Now go get changed, you look like a whore." He cut off Mozenrath's angry retort with an open hand to his rear.

Mozenrath gasped, but for a different reason all together. He stumbled, dizziness encompassing him like a wave he feared he was drowning under. Cursing the loss of his magic one last time before it all went dark, Mozenrath crumpled to the ground. Without a word, the Captain leaned down and retrieved him, holding him as easily as one might hold a sleepy child


	2. Chapter 2

Mozenrath awoke gradually. If only he could keep his eyes closed just a little while longer, he'd still be in his own bed, untouched, lying in a sea of decadently soft covers and sheets. Eventually, though, personal curiosity won out and he sat up, feeling oddly out of place, yes, but comfortable. He looked around.

He seemed to be in some sort of bedroom, judging by the washstand in the corner, the half open trunk of clothes, and of course, the bed he currently occupied. There were no adornments, just the bare, dark and worn walls and groaning planks beneath him. The bed seemed to be the only indulgence. Mozenrath eyes his accommodations critically. So maybe the sheets weren't exactly Egyptian cotton, but the bed was oversized, at least to Mozenrath, and decked with thick, luxurious furs, similar to, but thankfully more fragrant than, the coat the Captain had given him.

Mozenrath started, realizing where he must be. Of course, this was the Captain's quarters! Out of habit, he instantly checked himself. Yes, he was still in his shabby clothes, but at the foot of the bed was a plain green tunic and dark breeches, plus a pair of boots that had seen better days. Considering his options, Mozenrath waited a bit before crawling from the bed and at least putting the pants on. He set the shirt aside.

He felt oddly feverish and his head swam. Was it the magic loss again? Under his feet, the ship lurched and Mozenrath clutched a hand to his stomach. He groaned. Is this what sea sickness feels like? Eyeing the porthole above him hatefully, he padded back to the bed, not feeling up to exploring anymore.

The Captain came in right about the time Mozenrath was groaning into his pillow from nausea.

"Made yourself comfortable already?"

Mozenrath shot up, embarrassed and slightly irritated.

"You'd think with the ship rocking this bad you'd be up there manning the wheel or whatever it is you do." Mozenrath said flippantly.

The Captain laughed uproariously.

"So I take it you've never been aboard a ship before, have you...?" He searched for a name.

"Mozenrath." He supplied, before thinking better of it. His host seemed to be in a bit of a hurry and looking for something too. Mozenrath offered the Captain back the coat he'd lent him somewhat shyly, though he didn't know why. The Captain took it amiably.

"The name's Murk, Captain Murk, but I prefer just Captain, if you don't mind."

"Well," Mozenrath began haughtily, "it's actually Mozenrath, Lord of the-" Before he could finish, however, the ship rocked queasily again, and Mozenrath found himself hunched over.

"Mozenrath, Lord of the weak stomach?" the Captain provided with a laugh. Mozenrath gave him a baleful look, but was inwardly relieved. Best not reveal everything about himself, just in case.

The Captain jabbed a thumb at the wash area. "There's a bucket over there if you need it, just be sure to wash up."

Mozenrath was about to say something sarcastic in return until another wave of nausea hit and he was sent running, rather undignified, for the corner. The Captain, this time, did not laugh, but followed Mozenrath with concerned eyes.

Even with his spine folded nearly in half over the bucket, holding the rim for dear life, Mozenrath felt his skin prickle and shiver when the Captain carefully gathered Mozenrath's long, curly hair in his large hand and hold it away from his face. Even sick, he felt the heat and awesome presence of the man on his bare back.

When Mozenrath was done, Captain Murk turned to leave, instructing the sick sorcerer to try and stay in bed, if he could manage to not get sick all over it.

"What a gracious host you are, Captain." Mozenrath said dryly.

The Captain laughed, "I have better things to do with my time than to attend to a seasick seducer."


	3. Chapter 3

Mozenrath was miserable.

Even when the ship passed through the storm, Mozenrath stayed sick for an unusually long time, a fact Captain Murk was quick to point out. He was sympathetic, however, if only a little. Mozenrath was perfectly free to lie in bed all day, a privilege some the crew resented.

"Gracing us with your presence, are you?" the ship's cook jabbed when Mozenrath ventured from the Captain's quarters to the kitchen for meals. Mozenrath just eyed the fishy concoction in his bowl distastefully and said nothing.

So none of the men liked him, so what? Mozenrath didn't care. The Captain was good company enough.

Oh the Captain...

He and Mozenrath's relationship was strange, sure enough. Mozenrath still remembered these first nights in the Captain's bed. The very first night, the Captain said barely three words to Mozenrath and collapsed on the other side of the bed, fully clothed.

Mozenrath was both relieved and discouraged. He probably wasn't all that inviting, anyway, smelling like vomit and the oils he used to cover up the smell of vomit. But Mozenrath also suspected Captain Murk knew he was sick and needed to be left alone.

Mozenrath, at first, slept as far from the Captain's side of the bed as possible, if only out of principle mind you. But he eventually became very comfortable around the Captain, and eventually found himself sleeping right next to the large, black man, breathing the same heated air.

As of yet, the Captain had not touched him. He was an independent man. While he seemed to enjoy Mozenrath's company, he also was prone to long silences, which was fine to Mozenrath. He too, was a somewhat reserved person. But still, Mozenrath found it odd the Captain had not come to collect on Mozenrath's offer, not counting that one...instant.

It was a balmy day and an equally balmy night, and the cabin was stuffy. One minute Mozenrath was sleeping and the next he found himself inexplicably awake, staring into the darkness. That's when he felt it, at his leg, riding up the curve of his bottom. Mozenrath's breath hitched, though he tried to stay silent, realizing that it was the Captain's impossibly large erection against his thigh.

He froze when Captain Murk's breath was suddenly at his neck, was he mumbling or just breathing hard? And then that large hand in his hair, bunching up the curly strands in his fingers to bring it to the Captain's nose. Was he smelling him? Mozenrath held his breath, afraid to move.

Then abruptly the Captain turned back over, away from Mozenrath, and it was over.

Neither man mentioned anything in the morning. Mozenrath was uncharacteristically shy and confused after that. Around the Captain, he alternately felt critical, afraid, timid, and aroused. The Captain was an attractive man, attractive in the way Mozenrath liked his quick partners; he was large, strong, and confidant of himself. And Mozenrath was sure he had felt the Captain's eyes on him, often as he dressed or undressed. Yet Captain Murk had still not touched him.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't long before Mozenrath felt restless.

He had read every single book on the ship there was to find, though that wasn't saying much. In the small hours of the night when Mozenrath was sure Captain Murk would be at the helm until morning, he dared to exercise what magic he had left. He was getting better, as far as he could tell, if not at a maddeningly slow pace. He sat there at the bed's ledge, breath held to better hear footsteps, straining until he could no longer close his hands.

So far as he knew, no one had discovered his secret. The fact that he wasa sorcerer he kept to himself.

During the day, there was disappointingly little to do. His illness kept him close to the Captain's quarters. Captain Murk was almost never around, and his men were poor company. They openly showed their impatience and dislike of Mozenrath. Some even tried to incite him to fight, but Mozenrath was hot headed, not stupid. He knew the odds.

Arrogant, that's what those sailors were. Mozenrath was almost possible they looked down on him. And for what reason, just because his hands were as soft as a woman's and he had to be told repeatedly which direction was lee and which direction was leeward? It's not like they were so special. Mozenrath was sure he could master their job in a week, tops.

One morning, as the Captain set out, Mozenrath surprised him by announcing, "I'm going too."

"You sure?" Captain Murk inquired with a quirked brow.

"Of course I'm sure. Being idle is getting old. Plus," he added, breezing past an amused Captain, "I want to see what all the fuss is about."

Once they emerged from the dark, lower interior of the ship, the Captain immediately left Mozenrath to attend to his own duties. Mozenrath hardly noticed

Above deck was like a whole other world. The sun was blindingly bright to look upon, the vast, stretched sky so vividly blue it was close to glaringly intense. But the warm rays hit Mozenrath like a lover's caress, and he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. Living in adark citadel madeyou forget the little pleasures a sunny day could provide.

The other men ignored Mozenrath as they worked at their various jobs, which was just fine to Mozenrath. He traveled to the railing and leaned over as far as he dared. He felt the tangy wash of spray soak his face and neck with enjoyment. He then went to the main mast and stood under it, craning his neck to peer up at the lofty bird's nest. A husky, black furred sailor found Mozenrath's curiosity amusing.

"Go on then, pretty boy, climb up there."

Mozenrath felt his stomach bottom out at the idea and turned away, but not before jabbing,

"No, I think your's is the more expendable life."

He wandered in the afternoon heat, ducking, crawling, and climbing through the various parts of the ship, committing very bit of terminology he heard to memory. Since there was no one around he'd ever dare ask, he'd instead teach himself.

Soon enough he found the Captain at the raised forward deck. He leaned on a massive wheel, chatting with what looked to be either his helmsman or first mate. The man was both severe and lean looking and glared at Mozenrath haughtily when theymet eyes. Mozenrath smiled coolly, and strolled up unabashed, silently demanding Captain Murk's attention.

The Captain didn't acknowledge him at first, so Mozenrath knelt to pick up an oversized compass at the Captain's feet, purposefully set in a carved nook. He turned it over and over againin his nimble fingers with mild interest. Captain Murk's influential company glared all the more resentfully. He cleared his throat, and with an injured air, excused himself.

The Captain chuckled at Mozenrath with an easy air of affection.

"It seems you aren't making many friends, my little pilgrim."

"I wasn't aware it was a requirement," Mozenrath replied carelessly, setting the compass back down.

The two stood in unbothered silence for a moment. Mozenrath was absorbing every minute of his experience, everything new wasfresh and brilliant for him, as overwhelming and wonderful as the panoramic view of a watery world before him. The Captain's eyes, however,were dutifullyfocused on the horizon.

Mozenrath sighed and drew his hair back, fishing in his pocket for a band to secure it with.

"Not to state the obvious, but it's rather hot."

Captain Murk cast him a critical eye. "And you are wearing that?"

Mozenrath looked down at himself. He wore a pair of knee length breeches and the same sleeveless tunic from before, if not significantly scrubbed by his own critical hands.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Mozenrath asked defensively. "Please, enlighten me," he added somewhat crossly.

Captain Murk held up his hands in a plea for peace.

"I don't know if that's the best thing for you, hardy sailor though you are." He tried to hide a wide smile, but his mouth and eyes crinkled despite himself.

Mozenrath ignored the jibe and threw up his arms in exasperation.

"What are you talking about? I feel fine."

To be honest, however, he felt more than fine. He felt better than he had in a long time. He slept better, he ate more, and he found himself with more energy than ever before. His sickness had nearly past, and the fresh air and sun made him feel surprisingly vibrant.

"Listen to experience, boy, and go put on long clothes. You're going to burn." Captain Murk said. Hissmile wasgone,but his eyes stilllooked at Mozenrath like a parent chiding a young one.

"Oh of course. I just said it was hot, so let me go put on more clothes. That's it exactly." Mozenrath said with heavy sarcasm.

"Mozenrath-" Captain Murk began in warning. But Mozenrath had already rolled his eyes and was walking away. He called back with a self confidant wave.

"Your concern is flattering, really, but I assure you, I can handle myself quite well."

****************************Should I finish this?************


End file.
